Derivative
by nicayal
Summary: Because dueling with wood swords isn't fun without a partner, and blue eyes don't look quite right without brown mussed-up hair crowned above them. SoRiku & AkuRoku two-shot, experimental style.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N** : This first chapter is based on the prompt "reincarnation" from **silvermyth** (FFN & AO3). The story is best described as an experimental two-shot, yet another contribution of mine to AkuRokuRiSo month 2015. Both parts are essentially the same story, just told from different perspectives and using different prompts. First up is Riku, with Sora and Roxas POVs being next. Warnings for ideologically sensitive material, death & dying, the grieving process, and strong language. Reviews are welcome, and I hope you enjoy.

* * *

The day Sora died, Riku was nine, three days shy of his foray into double-digit adolescence. He hadn't been upset when he'd been pulled out of class, guided down the hall, and into an administration office, not even after an impassive-faced father and tearfully emotive mother broke the news that changed everything.

At the time, Riku hadn't been able to process the meaning behind what they were saying. He'd assumed that, like a mainland vacation or a sick period necessitating out-of-school bed rest, Sora would be gone one day and return the next so life as best friends could resume on its predestined schedule.

He hadn't understood the true significance of words like permanent until he encountered his first taste of death as an unyielding constant. It hadn't hit home at an admin office sit-down or even during the brief but heartfelt funeral. Instead, it was learned when his loneliness coalesced, forming smaller revelations most would consider mundane facets associated with the living of everyday life.

He felt it traversing the beach in the singular set of footprints left in his wake, saw hints in the discontinuation of sleepovers and with the revelation that other-world supposition wasn't nearly as fun posited solo. It appeared in the newfound dearth of one-on-one blitzball skirmishes, was even a mirthless hard hit that his age-worn velveteen Mickey no longer saw its loyal companion dolls now that Sora's two complementing Disney plushies were boxed into permanent storage.

Above all, it was the harsh realization of the impossibility to duel with wood swords as a party of one, absent a boy once happy to yawp declarations of 'best friends forever' to the depths of oceanic heavens under the rising swell of a tree that grew paopus.

The anger would feature later. It'd come in stages, ebbs and flows like emotion-based waves. Those natural tides were controlled by the moon, but nothing Riku experienced by way of this miserable heartache could ever be anticipated with such routine accuracy.

He learned that grief didn't end after a set number of weeks or months, but that people had timeframe expectations they were eager to impose anyway. Not only did grief sometimes twinge at emotional peripherals, he discovered it could just as easily twist even deeper into an impotent soul and throw positivity more permanently afield. For him most of all, it found a place ripe for festering in the vulnerabilities of a heart left persistently feeble, perennially keening. There it settled, solidified in time, unbeknownst to everyone but Riku himself.

He wasn't alone in this initial misery. Sora had been well-liked; he'd been the nucleus of a cadre of mutual friends. There had been others forced to endure similar stages of the grieving process, maybe those even willing to help divide the hurt into more manageable pieces, if Riku'd been willing to ask. His reticence to share anything associated with his best friend in life extended effortlessly into the realm of death, however. Now that only a memory remained of an affable smile, of blue eyes, brown hair, and sun-kissed island skin, Riku found himself enduringly less amenable to the idea still.

Wakka and Selphie were the first he let go, with Tidus not far behind. Kairi was trickier. In the beginning, she was indefatigable, insistent on them remaining in contact despite the well-set mask of his glowering countenance and an increasingly acerbic disposition in place to complement. Eventually, she too began to visit less and less, until all that remained of his former relationships was the occasional greeting during inevitable, unavoidable encounters in school corridors — and the memory of a blue eyed boy with a smile too big for his face serving as an everlasting reminder of the permanent hole at their core.

o - o

The first time Riku left Destiny Islands for more than a vacation or basic day trip was to attend college on the mainland, and he already had an inkling he'd never return to the memories he wanted to leave permanently back home. His peers departed with him, and Kairi and Tidus were even assigned the same dorm house. That being said, Riku intended to start fresh, to sever past island ties with the cleanest of possible cuts. By then, he'd become superb at avoidance, singularly focused on classes, and it was easy enough to keep his door locked to the rest of the world most days and evenings.

Despite his best efforts to remain apathetic, there were times when the walls of his dorm room seemed to close in on him, others when his roommate would invite in noisy friends. Then Riku would leave, and the easiest destination requiring the least amount of effort was the downstairs community room. With his nose in a textbook, hard expression set, and earbuds pulsing an assortment of indie rock at externally audible levels, people were well on notice to leave him alone.

It was this very same community room where Riku first saw him, a nucleus surrounded by an assortment of friends playing pool together, his focus homed in on the myriad worlds of multi-colored stripes and solids. His features were subtly off-kilter, but the smile was easily recognizable, and there was no way Riku could forget eyes so blue.

The boy laughed a laugh so similar to Sora's it cracked grief in two around the cage of his heart, and long-stifled feelings crept out like spiders, static and prickling into his limbs. Riku watched off in one corner from a chair near the board game storage locker as the boy chalked up the tip of his pool cue and took aim with Sora-esque confidence. He watched, held his breath, then waited, pretending the ache of longing at the lower dips of his ribs couldn't possibly belong to him.

Sensing the weight of another's gaze, the boy looked up, then over until he located the observing interloper, and they shared their first moment of dual awareness from two places across the same single room.

The boy was all mussed-up blond hair, ocean blue eyes, and the pale skin of an indoor-centric urban upbringing. These were superficialities Riku could ascertain immediately. Instead of averting his gaze, or shooting off a dirty look for staring so flagrantly, blue eyes looked at him for a beat of time, then two. Before turning back to his waiting friends, their owner offered Sora's smile and a look that was just a little too big for such a diminutive, cherubic face.

Much like grief, the smile led to new things, to introductions and sitting together at dinner, to meeting people by extended association alone. It led to Riku being able to say his best friend's name again daily without unqualified anguish, if only in the silence of his mind to himself. It led to learning names like Demyx and Zexion and Larxene, to late night dorm cafeteria cereal reconnaissance and shooting the shit on the campus green between classes while cramming for quizzes. It meant listening to Demyx's off-key singing and learning about myriad instruments that made music via strings; and taking an extra class in Physics beyond his own major's requirements at Zexion's encouraging behest; and when Larxene needed a designated driver late one night after an unequivocal failure of a blind date, it meant Riku riding passenger-side, bleary-eyed, on the way out of the dorms and toward downtown with a boy crowned in hair of yellow-blond at the navigating helm.

It led to remembering that Sora had never had the chance to grow old enough to learn how to drive in the first place.

It also ushered in resonate heartache, a feeling he thought he'd long ago learned to quell. Because, most of all, meeting Roxas meant learning about Axel.

It'd have been easy to withdraw again after such a jarring revelation, a simple process of making himself increasingly unavailable, just as he'd done countless times before. A few ignored texts, a handful of unreturned phone calls, and people would start leaving him alone again, or so Riku figured.

But blues eyes kept calling, remained friendly and persistent, and the invites for nights out kept steadily arriving. Riku, in turn, kept accepting as a direct consequence, no longer with Kairi, Wakka, Selphie, or Tidus, but with a new group of people who might residually count as friends. Growing up, some people might call it, and others still would be quick to claim he'd finally started to move on.

Only Riku still knew the agony afresh when he saw childhood remnants, whenever blue eyes looked at him with intimate familiarity at one moment only to silently recapitulate the wrong name the next. Roxas was his own person, with a different charge to his persona, augmented by Axel's encouraging presence. Riku knew all this; he watched it play out day after day. Alone in his dorm room every night, he tortured himself with it.

Just the same, blue eyes were enough for him to keep on remembering, for the time being.

In a way, it seemed fitting that pain collected like fresh rain water every time he was in Roxas' presence. By those revelatory standards, Riku discovered there were more ways to self-harm than the act of externalized injury and that mental scars lasted longer than sarcoline marks to his skin. It also fit, seemed somehow appropriate, to fall in with this crowd, a group of nobodies on campus whose shared experiences were formed by their mutual outsider status. This included, among other things, same-gender attractions they'd all grown up believing constituted some inherent malfunction of being.

Riku knew enough about darkness and a half-lived, incomplete existence to find himself at home among them, even if he didn't seamlessly jibe with their histories of urban adolescence, of parenting that more often encompassed enduring absence over supportive presence. Maybe this sense of tenuous acceptance was why he found himself saying yes when Roxas invited him to Axel's off-campus apartment one Saturday evening to watch a movie with the rest of these new faces and different names than the ones he'd grown up with.

In the beginning, it was all popcorn and cheap alcohol, some jokes posed by Demyx, a bit of Larxene's snide laughter, and an exasperated abundance of eye rolls from Zexion. By intermission, it was Axel kissing Roxas who was nestled on his lap, Zexion conceding and sliding his hand into Demyx's, and Larxene hissing operatic indignation when she spotted both sets of boy-on-boy demonstrations of patent affection. By movie's end, it was a trio of college seniors taking their leave while Riku remained curled up on Axel's oversized beanbag, head filled with buzzing, with unwanted mnemonics occasionally punctuated by the soft vibratory purr of Roxas' snores. Chest rising and falling beneath Axel's attenuate arm on the love-seat only a few inches away, it served as a mocking reminder of what he himself might've possessed if death weren't so persistently permanent.

At some point, he supposed, he'd fallen asleep, because at some point later on he found himself jolted awake under the weight of another's acute observation. Vision bleary, Riku fought a yawn and tilted his chin to look up toward the couch.

Blue eyes were studying him, the wide-eyed look overpowering subsidiary features on a cherubic face. In the stagnant silence of early morning, they shared their second moment of dual awareness from two places in the same single room.

This time there were no waiting friends, no pool game to turn back to, not even a familiar smile for Riku to latch onto. Instead, Roxas was staring and surveying, an affable nucleus at the center of the two who surrounded him.

"Swords," he said, voice hushed, and Riku blinked at the vivid image the word induced. "I remember now. It's impossible to play without a partner."

He extended a hand out from one pale arm, and Riku knew this was skin that had never felt his island's sun-kissed radiance. He reached up and twined his fingers through it anyway.

Roxas didn't speak again, and Riku neither asked questions nor demanded a logical answer. Hand-in-hand they remained together, worlds apart, simply watching each other on the way to dawn and its patent reminder of the lives they were meant to finish with others.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N** : Here we go. I can't believe I wrote this in three days. More info about my thought process for writing this is at the end.  
 **Prompts** : A fic based on the lyrics in Utada Hikaru's songs, "Sanctuary" and "Simple & Clean" for AkuRokuRiSo Month 2015  
 **Prompter** : CameoAmalthea (AO3 & Tumblr)

* * *

 _In you and I, there's a new land  
_ _Angels in flight._

Drowning felt like falling. It felt like careening, plummeting, freewheeling through infinite nothing. It was the effervescence of life-giving bubbles floating out of reach above him, the rustling of feathers caressing the sides of his face, the gentle brushing of his mother's fingers sending him off to sleep every evening. To Sora, drowning felt like sprouting wings, like taking flight.

Just not at first.

Initially, it was the throes of panicked awareness, the everlasting burn of air impoverished lungs, and the last-ditch attempted jerking of arms trying to return him to the ocean surface.

First, it was only fear, the sting of saltwater mixing with barefaced disbelief. An islander from birth, Sora had always held unwavering faith in his ability to swim his way out of anything.

He'd woken early that morning, had ambled to the beach with eyes still bleary from the last vestiges of sleep. A swim before school wasn't really anything unusual. Going alone had been new.

He was almost ten, he'd reasoned, old enough to run errands for his mother, so why not this on his own, too?

The sandbar near his house had been his aim. It'd been simple enough to swim out to, the ocean floor along that one narrow strip shallow enough to walk around on tiptoes, water lapping at the base of his neck, welcoming him that morning like a longtime friend. Arms outstretched on either side of him, Sora treaded water, unmindful of the waves cresting gently against him, coaxing his floating journey away from the shallows as he enjoyed the feel of rising morning sunlight against the upturned side of one olive cheek.

It'd been a failed transition from swimming to standing, to discovering an absence of sand beneath searching feet and the visceral shock of inadvertently inhaled ocean froth.

It was wave after wave, building, keeping his head submerged, and an unrelenting rip current pulling him away from the shore that further hampered his natural, scissor-kick movements. A build-up of agonizing guilt followed; he'd known better than to venture into water without his best friend by his side keeping watch.

In his last moments of consciousness, his closest friends returned to him. The sun warmed the side of his face again and Sora looked at them, Kairi to his right, Riku on his left, smiling and laughing and enjoying the island's light breeze beneath a tree that grew paopus.

They dissolved in turn, first Kairi, then Riku, the tree offering a final farewell. Elbows bracing, chin tilting toward the sun, Sora pushed away from what remained of the tree trunk, ground fading beneath him and flickering with specks, infinitesimal grains of white beach sand. His arms were outstretched, no longer treading treacherous water but reaching for the sky like a bird in anticipation of flight.

To everyone else, drowning meant death. Permanence. To Sora, it was falling and flying at the same time. It was discovering a second chance at life.

Just not his own.

o - o

He woke to the chirping of birds and the muffled whistle of a train, three trills in succession from a far enough distance that their signification didn't register at first in the fog of half-consciousness.

Opening his eyes, blinking rapidly to bring the colors and shapes of an unfamiliar room into focus, Sora felt arms reach out, sensed elbows straighten, bracing the mattress as he pressed himself into an upright position.

Legs slid beneath him, hands outstretched toward a double-pane picture window adjacent the bed. Sora shifted onto his knees, saw fingers curl around a brass-colored latch. The window clicked open at the same moment he processed the pale skin of the arm still extended in front of him.

He wanted to keep looking, to study the arm until it made sense why it'd be this close to him. Pulled by a mental effort more forceful than his own, Sora's eyes rose, away from the mystery limb and up to the open window.

The glance was only cursory, a survey performed by someone who was well-accustomed to the scene. Long after he turned away, long after bare feet met a hardwood floor and pajamas were exchanged for black and white checkered clothing, the image was still burning an indelible imprint into the back of Sora's eyes:

Buildings, rising all around him in a picture of urban living, smoke curling lazily from myriad chimneys; a bridge and its complimenting train tracks; the yellows and oranges and reds of a blossoming dawn reflecting off bells and the bronze-alloy face of a large clocktower.

More pressing for Sora, much more enduring a concern, was the overt absence of ocean sounds and smells.

He didn't know why it mattered.

Lost in thought, he allowed the alien actions of a morning routine wholly unfamiliar to him to continue, still pondering pale skin, and clocktower behemoths, all the while muffled train whistles were still ringing, lingering, singing good morning to him.

He walked past a schoolbag that seemed the wrong color, felt a twinge of impending regret about the last week of summer. With a resigned sigh, Sora leaned down, tied black and red shoes he thought would look better in yellow, made a grab for a well-worn skateboard, and made his way out the door.

Exiting the house, one foot slapping the pavement to build up speed, the other angling his board toward Tram Common, Sora couldn't help but feel that this was all a little off, a bit out of sorts. He couldn't help but think that instead of a skateboard underfoot, he'd feel far more at home with both hands wrapped around the wooden handle of a sword meant for one-on-one sparring, bare feet bracing, toes curling downward, furrowing themselves into the grains of a white sand shoreline.

o - o

"I don't see why going to the beach is totally out. We've still got plenty of time to get there and be back before the last train leaves."

With a scowl, Sora leaned back, one foot stepping off his skateboard, the other pressing down on its tail, the nose rising until he caught it in one hand. Taking a few steps back, he dropped onto one of the lumpy cushions nestled into the frame of an old couch in their hangout area. Placing the skateboard deck on both legs, wheels on either side of his thighs, he trailed the pads of his fingers over the newly applied grip tape, noting the stiff, sandpapery top layer with silent appreciation.

"And I don't see why you're being such a fixating bitch when you're the whitest of all of us. You really want to burst into flames after five minutes in direct sunlight? Does that sound like a party to you?"

Without looking up, Sora flipped Hayner off with his free hand, eliciting a disapproving sound from Olette and a light smack upside the head as an unanticipated bonus.

"Hey!" His voice started out at a cracked octave above its normal register, then meandered its way down into an outright whine. "He started it."

Taking a dainty seat atop a nearby wooden crate, Olette merely shrugged. "You're both being ridiculous right now, from my vantage point."

Tempted to tell her that stupid expression didn't count if she hadn't even been sitting there during the exchange in question, Sora pursed his lips and looked down, thrumming his fingers against the deck of his skateboard. He wasn't sure why the beach mattered so much, except for the obvious fact that summer vacation was almost over and they still hadn't gone yet. Maybe it was that, possibly the unforgiving heat making him testier than usual. Maybe it was a bit of both.

Maybe he just wanted to see the ocean again.

Whatever the case, Sora kept quiet, content to listen to his friends chatter, to hear Pence talk about his photography class that'd just ended, to note Olette's chiding toward Hayner for not having so much as glanced at his assigned readings for the next school term.

He should probably get caught up on readings too, Sora mused. It wasn't like he hadn't had time. With both parents working long hours, he'd been mostly left to his own devices during the daytime. Sophomore year just didn't seem as exciting as the prospect of starting high school as a freshman. Same for the associated homework.

"Maybe we can do the beach tomorrow."

Sora looked up, expression unconsciously earnest. It seemed likely Hayner had only mentioned it to steer the conversation away from Olette and his lack of studiousness. If it got them to the beach before summer was over, Sora found he really didn't care one way or the other.

"That'd be cool."

"Whatever." Rolling his eyes a little, Hayner stood. "Let's go to the Sandlot, see if anyone's around to play Struggle with. Sitting around doing nothing's getting boring."

"You could always be doing your readings," Olette pointed out. Hayner responded with the perfect imitation of a toddler, palms slapped against both ears, whispering an exaggerated 'I can't hear you' under his breath as he made a beeline for the back alley entrance.

Arms crossed over her chest, expression a picture of complete exasperation, Olette followed a few steps after with Pence in tow.

Calling out that he'd catch them in a few minutes, Sora took his time to rise. He was still a little bummed about the change of plans, although he supposed playing Struggle was a decent consolation prize. He'd always liked the feel of the Struggle bat in his hands, enjoyed the swinging motion as he directed it toward his opponent.

It was still only a second-rate alternative to a day at the beach, in his view.

With a sigh, Sora stood, dropping his skateboard back to the ground in front of him, and glided over to the old fabric sheet they'd draped across the alley room's entrance to separate it from the rest of the town's backstreet passageways. A few strong pushes, knees bent and pressing his board into the ground, and it'd be like his friends hadn't gotten much of a head-start at all on him.

What he got instead was a collision into another person.

A pair of people, technically.

Losing his balance, half-hopping, half-stumbling off his board in the impact's direct aftermath, he supposed he should've been happy he hadn't ended up flat on his ass in front of complete strangers. With assorted curses at a feminine register and a surprised yelp that was high enough to be gender neutral, Sora looked up, taking in a pair of blond teens who couldn't have been more than a few years older than him.

"Dude, you came out of nowhere," was overlapped with a much more acerbic, "doesn't anyone watch where the fuck they're going anymore," and Sora found himself hard-pressed to distinguish between the two speakers, despite the overt differences in their demeanors and genders.

"Get over yourself, Larxene. It was clearly an accident," a third voice chimed in. This one was resonate, tone light-hearted. It came from another boy who'd initially been obscured by two blond hair sporting heads and Sora's own mortified inattention.

"I mean, wasn't it?"

Green eyes locked on him, a confident smile followed, offered up like the boy had a surplus and wasn't afraid to share with strangers. As they eyed one another, Sora felt an unidentifiable heat blossom in his chest, a flurry of heady fluttering originating in his stomach, neither of which seemed to derive completely from his own constitution. He found himself hoping his face wouldn't reveal the flush slowly making its way from sternum to neck, was well aware of his skin's recurring penchant to make his face and ears a shade of red that could give green eyes' own fire-hydrant tresses a genuine run for their munny.

Mutely, Sora nodded, held the nose of his skateboard in front of him in both hands like an ineffective shield.

Glancing over Sora's shoulder, the blond boy eyed the area behind him. "People still come back here to hang out?"

Half turning to follow his gaze, Sora finally found his voice. "Yeah." Feeling self-conscious, he transferred his board from one hand to the other. "We call it The Usual Spot."

With a snide laugh, the girl rolled her eyes. "So did we. Then we grew out of it."

Looking mildly offended, the first boy poked the girl's shoulder with one lyrical finger. "Shut your whore mouth, Larxene. I still like it."

Seemingly unaffected by the insult, the girl shrugged and shot him an unimpressed look. "Shocker. You still act like you're fifteen, too."

As Sora tried to decide if he should feel offended by the implication that The Usual Spot was lame or that she thought people his age were patently immature, green eyes fixed on him again.

"Where were you headed in such an all-fired hurry?"

Still nervously fiddling with the grip-tape on his skateboard, Sora's eyes darted down the alley in the direction of his intended trajectory. "The Sandlot."

"Hey, cool." The other boy's voice made Sora jump a little with its enthusiastic volume. "We're going that way too. We can walk together."

Sora didn't say anything, just began to follow Larxene and the boy she'd just insulted, content to trail a few steps behind them as the boy began bemoaning the fact that the college they were all heading off to didn't have so much as a recreational Struggle team.

He hadn't expected green eyes to pull up alongside him, or a thin arm to brush against his shoulder as the older boy slowed to match his shorter-limbed pace.

"I'm guessing you're still in high school."

Eyes still trained on the ground, studying the shoes of the pair in front of him, Sora nodded.

"Yeah. I'll be a sophomore next week."

"Cool, cool." The voice was smooth, somewhat ruminative. "I just graduated a few months ago."

Unsure whether the declaration required a response on his part, Sora stole a glance at the other boy out of the corner of one eye.

The boy was still looking down at him, expression open, friendly, wind cutting the heat around them as it ruffled a shock of red tresses gelled up into a field of gravity-defying locks.

"I'm Axel. What should I call you?"

A name tickled the back of his throat but caught, remained unspoken. The letters that encompassed it misted, floated and shimmered in the visual landscape at the back of his mind, until they rearranged themselves entirely — until Sora wondered where the inclination to speak them had originated in the first place.

He met the boy's gaze more fully this time, fingers stilling, pressing into the gritty top layer on the lip of his board, pale knuckles of each individual finger blanching in turn.

"Roxas," he replied.

The name felt smooth across his lips. It sounded right.

 _So many ups and downs  
_ _My heart's a battleground._

Waves lapped against a seaside shoreline, aquamarine and caressing with each ebb and flow of midday ocean tide.

As his friends splashed each other, as Olette shrieked and tried to keep her hair dry while Hayner and Pence grinned and worked double-time on saturating all three of them, Roxas watched from the beach, a multi-colored umbrella above him, shins half buried in warm sand, the tips of his toes peeking out in front of him.

"You should go join them."

Roxas shrugged in response.

He sensed more than saw the subtle weight of a gaze redirect toward him.

"I'll go with if you want."

"No, thanks." Biting the inside of his cheek, eyes lowered to the wooden popsicle stick pressed between two fingers, he shook his head, determined not to look up at the water again.

To most, the back and forth motion of waves against shore was a calming sensation, an intimation of peacefulness. To Roxas, it was an unnerving mélange of enticing and ominous.

He'd never been able to explain it, how the ocean seemed to call to him, seemed to reach out and speak words only the deepest part of him understood. He couldn't explain it to Hayner or Pence, didn't have the smallest clue how to describe it to Olette. Not even Axel's presence on some weekends and most college holidays had managed to crack the code of this persistent cognitive dissonance. It was his mystery to ponder and his alone.

One umbrella to their right, the thrum of a string instrument broke the lingering silence. It was followed up by an incisive insult about indie musician wannabes.

Glancing up, Roxas took in the two bickering college students. His expression lacked the cautious uncertainty of their first days together two summers ago, the patent amusement that encompassed the three month holiday last year when he realized this was just how Demyx and Larxene interacted with one another.

"You have to admit, he is getting better at that weird-ass instrument."

By his side, Axel reclined, legs straightening, arms forming a bracing support behind his neck.

Bending his knees toward his chest, Roxas watched grains of sand pour off either side of his legs as more and more of his skin reappeared. It was the opposite of dissolving, felt like a part of him was becoming whole again. Wrapping his arms around the tops of his shins, he leaned forward enough to rest the tip of his chin in the divot between both kneecaps.

"Yeah. He is."

Down by the shoreline, his friends plodded their way through the waves and back to the beach, exposed skin glistening as the sun reflected droplets of ocean water off all three of them.

Pence mimed the action of leaving to grab food, then raised one hand in a beckoning motion, but Roxas waved them off, content to remain where he was already seated, to let the chords of Demyx's sitar music intermingle with the ocean's natural sounds until it became something entirely standalone. Something new. He felt Axel shift next to him, adjusting the entwined fingers at the back of his head.

"What're you thinking?"

Allowing his eyes to lose focus, to let the water blend into the sky a shade lighter above it, Roxas breathed in through his nose and remained silent for a pregnant moment, holding his breath until his lungs began to protest.

"I'm thinking they can never know," he said with a corresponding exhale. "Same for my parents."

Something deep within him was dissatisfied with the answer, but Roxas wasn't interested in exploring it. He knew his family well enough to realize the feelings he'd been having over the past year were anything but the sort they would accept with open arms.

"You'll be eighteen soon," Axel returned. "Then it won't matter anymore."

Slowly, Axel bent one knee, leaving the other leg where it had been resting, prone on the beach towel under it. Roxas watched the sinuous movement without comment as it came to a stop only a few inches in front of him. With a sigh, he dropped his arms to both sides and allowed himself to recline until he was lying on his back.

He turned his head, eyed Axel in profile, took in the hairline that had receded a little in the past two years and given his entire face a sharper countenance as a final parting gift, regarded green eyes, malachite slits directed at the underside of the overhead umbrella, paused on the visible teardrop-shaped fleck of ink that Axel had gotten in a matching set at the beginning of his sophomore year of college. Roxas had once claimed they made him look clownish although he hadn't really meant it. Axel, in turn, had only pretended to act like he'd been slighted. They knew each other well enough by now to bandy pseudo-insults without either taking true offense at any of them. Idly, Roxas wondered why interactions like these had never felt as natural around friends he'd known since childhood.

His meandering gaze came to a halt at Axel's nose, afraid of what thoughts might filter through if his eyes traveled lower. As he worried two front teeth over his bottom inside lip, Roxas suppressed the urge to sigh heavily.

"Did it matter any less after you turned eighteen and your dad still wouldn't let you come home to visit?"

Although he was stubbornly avoiding a glance at Axel's mouth, Roxas saw the forming smile from the rise in his prominent cheekbones, in the subtle crinkling at the edge of one eye.

"You get used to it."

"Right." Roxas scoffed. "I'd rather not have to."

The sitar music stopped, made way for the sounds of shuffling, a slight bit of grumbling, as Demyx and Larxene got up. A moment later, an eclectic combo of feathered tresses and buzzed blond hair assaulted their vision as Demyx stuck his head under their beach umbrella.

"We're gonna go get some ice cream. You guys want some?"

Both boys declined, Axel in one murmured word, Roxas with a shake of his head. With a light shrug, Demyx ambled off, the light-hearted sounds of his bickering with Larxene slowly fading the further away they traveled.

"Look." Despite the good-natured tone he'd been employing all afternoon, it was Axel who sighed as he shifted onto one side, propping his head up on a bent elbow and one upturned palm. "I'm not saying you have to come out now. It's just, you'll be in college around this time next year. People are more open there, less judgmental."

Suddenly self-conscious as he realized how close Axel was to him, Roxas diverted his eyes to the umbrella above him and palmed the popsicle stick in a tight-fisted grip.

"And hey."

The smile that'd been playing across Axel's lips grew into a full-fledged grin that even Roxas couldn't avoid noticing out of his peripherals. Shyly, he looked back over, brows rising, waiting for Axel to finish his sentence.

"If you end up at the same school as me, I'm even willing to help you with all that awful freshman year homework — if the price is right." The over-exaggerated waggle of two bright eyebrows left no question what was being implied, however jokingly.

"Oh, for th—you complete _ass_." Roxas stuttered over the words, face breakneck reddening, as Axel's expression turned smug. "Shut the fuck up, will you?"

He aimed a swat but was caught off-guard by a lightning quick parrying movement.

Changing positions in one fast blur of upper body motion, Roxas didn't even have a chance to process Axel's increased proximity until he was already bridged above him, elbows bent outward, palms flat on the ground on either side of his arms.

For a moment, both boys stared at one another, Axel's expression assured, Roxas' eyes widening by the second while the logical part of his mind quickly cautioned that the two of them were in public, in plain view to anyone who might look their way.

Hours later, after they'd caught the last train, after Roxas had returned home to an empty house, thoughts still whirling, fluttering, erratically twirling, the sounds of seagull wings beating as they took flight and ocean waves still lingering, whispering like ghosts in his ears, he still wouldn't be able to say who had initiated the kiss.

He also wasn't sure it mattered.

What did was lips against lips, and the salty-sweet hint of afternoon ice cream. What he remembered most was the heat, wholly separate from the sun above or the sand beneath his electrified skin. Heat was what traveled outward from his chest and into each limb, prickling, circulating into every nerve with an intensity it seemed Axel was in exclusive control of.

The uneasy feeling crept closer once more, anxiety rising in tandem with the shared intimacy as Roxas closed his eyes and tried to remain calm, attempted to assure himself this was fine, that his parents were at work and his friends weren't set to return to the beach for awhile yet. He found himself returning the kiss with his own variant of fervency, pressing against Axel, just barely suppressing the urge to reach out and actually touch him.

It couldn't have lasted more than thirty seconds, Axel pulling away first but remaining a few inches above him, chest rising and falling as though out of breath. Roxas opened his eyes a beat later, saw a flash of liquid silver, a keen gaze of aquamarine. He blinked once and the image was gone, Axel's eyes their rightful green and regarding him above teardrop-inked skin, beneath slicked-back hair, and an amused, teasing expression, mouth still a sliver open, breath tickling and warm against the side of his face.

"You first, babe."

o - o

"You lazy shit, _get up_. We're going to miss dinner."

The hissed directive had no effect on the college senior lounging on his twin bed, one leg bent, one slender forearm shielding his eyes from the harsh fluorescence of dorm room lighting.

"Go without me. I'm still tired. Just gonna snooze a little while longer." The words were mumbled, tone indistinct. Roxas' brows furrowed as he realized Axel was fully prepared to fall back to sleep.

"You've been napping for over an hour. You seriously want me to meet _your_ friends by myself?"

Twisting onto his side, Axel reached for a pillow, pressed his head half-under it. "They're your friends by extension. Don't be dramatic."

"Fine."

With an exaggerated sigh, Roxas turned away from the bed, rummaged on the messy space of his desk, fingers searching, hands rutting under a host of worksheets and fall semester class textbooks. He tossed a pair of room keys onto the bed a moment later. In an act of unparalleled benevolence, he didn't aim for Axel's face.

"We're going to the community room after. Come find us if you wake up before the night is half over."

If Axel responded, Roxas didn't hear it on his way out the door. In truth, he was only a little perturbed by the slight change in plans, only a tad frustrated that Axel wouldn't be joining him. There was plenty to do on campus on his own or with the new people he'd been meeting in his classes and on his dorm floor. As a freshman, Roxas was still excited to be at school. Everything still felt fresh and new. Axel, on the other hand, had moved off-campus in his junior year, was just biding his time until he graduated after his two remaining semesters, and was much less enthusiastic about the prospect of pool games and dorm food.

Making his way down the hall, Roxas headed for the stairs, descended two floors and angled his way toward the wing of his dormitory reserved for upperclassmen. With routine familiarity, he counted the doors, located the ninth one to his right and, noting it cracked open a sliver, pushed it open further and entered the room.

He was met with the sight of two boys making out on a ratty futon couch, two boys who broke apart the moment they realized they were no longer alone. Mouth dropping open, hands flying up to his face to block out the view, Roxas whirled around, back facing them both.

"Christ on a cross." Demyx's voice came out an octave higher than usual, which was saying something. Roxas just didn't know if he wanted to think harder about exactly what. "Why didn't you knock?!"

"Good _god_ , why wasn't your door fully shut?!" was Roxas' volleyed return. He was going to have to pour bleach in his eyes to get that image to dissolve completely.

He heard shuffling, the sound of someone standing up. "You can turn around," a voice rang out. Demyx again. "We're decent now."

Face burning, Roxas complied, for the first time taking a moment to eye the boy Demyx had been all over just a few seconds prior.

"So, um, Rox. This is Zexion. We're kinda dating now." A hand rose to scratch the back of his head as Demyx haltingly spoke. "Or something like that."

Schooling his expression, taking in the boy with hair dyed a shade of slate and swept in front of one eye like an emo Fall Out Boy-obsessed teen, Roxas offered a curt nod. "I think I got that."

When Demyx and Zexion remained silent, simply regarding him, Roxas decided to change the subject. "I just came to see if you wanted to grab dinner before heading down to the community room."

"Oh!" Demyx's expression immediately brightened. "Yeah, actually. I've been meaning to introduce Zex to everyone. You know, make it official and all with Larxene and Axel."

Already envisioning Larxene's reaction, Roxas turned toward the door. This promised to be an experience, depending on Larxene's current mood and his ability to stay out of the line of verbal crossfire if she decided not to take a liking to the idea of Demyx actually dating anyone. As much as she claimed not to give two shits about what Demyx did in his free time, Roxas knew her well enough by now to recognize a protective streak when he saw one.

Without a word, Roxas headed out the door, with Demyx a few steps behind.

"Speaking of…" Stepping aside to let Zexion pass, then turning to twist a key into his door lock, Demyx glanced over at Roxas. "Where is your guy anyway?"

They walked down the hall, Demyx and Roxas side by side with Zexion seemingly content to trail a few feet behind them. "Being his lazy self," Roxas replied. "He's passed out on my bed citing exhaustion from the single elective class he had to struggle through this morning."

With a good natured laugh, Demyx skipped forward, holding the door to the cafeteria open for his two companions. "Poor baby. That sounds about right. Is he gonna at least join us for game night?"

Roxas shrugged, expression as noncommittal as Axel's original answer to him, then stepped into line and pulled out his student ID, preparing to swipe it through the meal card reader.

They split up into various food lines, reconvening at a table that Axel and his friends had called unofficial dibs on years beforehand when they were underclassmen themselves and Roxas was still in high school. Larxene was already present, stabbing various vegetables onto the tip of a steak knife with more vigor than was probably necessary to complete the task. As Demyx offered up introductions again, Roxas found himself content to listen without actively participating as the familiar back-and-forth banter rose between the pair, supplemented by the occasional answer from Zexion when he was asked a question.

After dinner, it was a quick walk over to the community room, with Roxas now curbing the urge to skip in mimicry of Demyx's earlier enthusiasm. It was kind of lame, probably, to get this excited about playing games on campus. It'd just been a lonely few years between his parents' absences and the growing distance with his friends. The latter had been self-imposed, for the most part, Roxas guarding the details of his relationship with Axel so closely the widening gap between once-strong friendships had felt necessary. Maybe he'd read his friends wrong. Maybe they'd have understood or it wouldn't have mattered. Nevertheless, he didn't want to risk it somehow getting back to his parents, of being lectured about how something like this had the potential to ruin a bright professional future or even risk the possibility of getting disowned for the singular sin of being open about himself.

In the end, it'd been easier to drift away, to find other after school activities and cite an increasingly heavy load of homework, to force himself to grow out of regular meetings at The Usual Spot.

Axel hadn't agreed with his tactics, but he also hadn't intervened, letting Roxas forge his own path in the three years between their chance meeting before sophomore year and Roxas' first semester at the same college where he was now a senior.

And he had been right; college meant a lot more freedom, felt a lot less intrinsically stifling. He was less afraid of referencing a boyfriend in the presence of other students, no longer had to make male pronouns neutral out of concern over who might end up hearing him and disapproving.

With others like Demyx and Larxene as ever-present influences in his new college life, Roxas thought this may have been the first time he could truly go without censoring himself.

It also didn't hurt that Larxene was a shark at pool and Demyx was drooling over Zexion enough not to mind when Roxas paired up with her in Axel's enduring absence.

The game was light-hearted enough, with Larxene offering up her trademark shit-talk following virtually any move that worked out in her favor. Before long, Roxas found himself getting into the game, and getting over what little irritation remained about Axel skipping out on them. He found himself laughing, lightly brushing shoulders with Demyx, even waggling his eyebrows at Zexion in a perfect rendition of an expression he'd learned from Axel years ago.

He chalked up, pocketed a few solids, eyed the obsidian colored eight ball with appreciation.

Without warning, the distinct sense that someone was watching him prickled the base of his neck.

Expecting to see Axel, eyes flashing inborn confidence, cocky gait approaching, Roxas scanned the room but saw nothing. Axel definitely wasn't anywhere in the room.

Intent on returning to the pool game, his gaze retraced its visual path, from the community room's entrance, past a large screen TV with a smattering of students watching some trashy reality show Roxas had never seen before, then over to the board game storage locker. There it slowed. There it stalled, as Roxas locked eyes with another student, a textbook clutched in white-knuckled fingers, the serpentine chords of music earbuds trailing down from both sides of his face. Silvery hair was tucked haphazardly back behind both ears, but the eyes were what caught Roxas, what stopped him from turning away as they fixed their undivided blue-green attention on him.

The boy was meeting his gaze head-on, not so much looking as staring with a level of intensity Roxas knew he should find unnerving. Instead, he found himself frozen in place, time momentarily halting, chest feeling as if it was in the active process of cracking open with a swell of emotional overwhelm.

And, bubbling up from the newfound space within his ribcage, an unidentifiable, unreserved surge of childish joy.

In compliance with emotions that didn't feel totally his own, Roxas smiled, expression so wide it induced resounding jaw-ache, the inclination to wave the boy over suppressed, but just barely.

The boy's eyes widened at the same time that his expression grew cautious. Before Roxas could consider the silent encounter further, he felt a light tap on his shoulder, looked up, and saw Demyx.

"Hey, it's your turn. Might wanna get a move on before Larxene does that thing."

"That thing," Roxas echoed, voice rising in vague inquiry, eyes still predisposed to traveling over toward the storage locker.

Demyx nodded emphatically. "Yeah, you know. That _thing_. That thing that we all hate."

Roxas heard the snarky cackle like it came from a distance twice as far away as Larxene actually was from him.

"Right. Okay."

Looking between Roxas and the boy across the room, Demyx's expression hinted at light interest.

"Someone you know?"

Turning away, reaching for the cue chalker with his free hand, Roxas shook his head in a weak attempt at clearing it.

"No," he said, tone steady, expression sure. "It's not."

 _You show me how to see  
_ _That nothing is whole and nothing is broken._

It was Roxas whose chest rose and fell this go-around, the physical response a derivation of actions much more ardent than a first innocent kiss under the cover of a beachside umbrella a mere year and two months ago.

Head tucked beneath Axel's chin, hair damp and matted at odd angles across his forehead, Roxas studied his dorm room ceiling, eyes narrowed into tapered slits. There was something in his chest that was widening, rising up from the pit of his stomach. It left him breathless, tired, exhilarated. In Axel's arms, Roxas felt the tenuous state of his nervy mental equilibrium gradually leveling out to something more comfortable.

Just the same, something lingered, a handful of opaline letters hovered, nearly translucent, beseeching to be rearranged, to be made whole and sensical.

"What're you thinking?" Axel's voice was quiet, a low purr left over from the vestiges of recent intimacy.

Shifting slightly, then ultimately deciding it wasn't worth the effort to separate himself enough to initiate eye contact, Roxas settled back down against Axel's chest.

"Why do you always ask me that?"

A light chuckle followed, and Roxas felt it reverberate through the canal of his spine, each individual undulation concurrently reminding him of ocean waves and the vibration of expertly strummed sitar strings.

"Because, contrary to popular belief, I think your mind's just as fascinating as your body is sexy."

Roxas snorted what little air he had left from his last panted breath, and the letters scattered, burst into white sand grains and parted, flickering dust in an intangible mental wind behind his irises. A moment later, he was sliding off Axel, rising, bounding the few steps between bed and dresser to retrieve a pair of underwear.

"Ah, c'mon."

Glancing over a shoulder, still quiet, Roxas noted that Axel had shifted onto his stomach, one ankle hooked around the other, feet hovering over bent knees to accommodate his height on such a small dorm bed.

"Humor me for once. I'm actually curious."

Roxas turned back to his built-in dresser, slid open a drawer and emerged with the sought-after article of clothing. One foot after the other, he stepped into the undershorts, then pulled them up until the elastic band settled just above the subtle juts of both hip bones.

Looking up again, Roxas' expression turned skeptical. "You want to know what I'm thinking right now?"

"Right this instant, babe, yeah." Axel's one-sided smile curved up until it was almost perpendicular to the sharp angle of his chin.

"Okay…" Idly, Roxas wondered who was humoring whom at this exact instant. "I was thinking about this guy I saw in the community room the other night."

Axel froze, his smile dropping half an inch, the expression on his face almost comical in its exaggerated interpretation of the unanticipated answer. The surprise was wiped clean a split-second later, replaced by his usual look of casual confidence and its arched eyebrow first cousin.

"Damn. I wasn't expecting _that_. Should I be worried?"

This time, Roxas rolled his eyes and reached for a t-shirt. "Don't be dramatic."

Slipping into the shirt, then locating his jeans, Roxas stole a glance at Axel. It wasn't like him to go silent in the face of their customary verbal bantering.

Still on his stomach, Axel had reached for his phone in the moments when Roxas' back was turned, was now thumbing through what looked like a social network newsfeed.

Pants zipped up, Roxas quirked his head, eyes still on his boyfriend. "What're you doing?"

"Changing my relationship status to single," was the near immediate response.

Roxas stared, for a moment thinking Axel was serious. Chin slightly tilting, green eyes flickered away from the smartphone screen, and a teasing grin soon followed on the heels of the rest of Axel's sly expression.

"I'm kidding."

Dropping heavily into his desk chair, Roxas offered an exaggerated scowl. "No, you're an asshole. This is why I never tell you anything."

"Mm." Eyes traveled back to the phone in his hands, the rueful smile lingered, and Roxas found himself staring, fixated on Axel's lips, tempted to make up the distance between them and put that arch expression to rest on a bed of attention-diverting kisses.

Then again, he'd never been the romantic-gesture type, so Roxas remained where he sat, the idea dying in its infancy planning stages.

"So, this guy." Still thumbing, only stopping to like the occasional friends' status or uploaded photograph, Axel didn't look up. "Tell me about him."

Roxas' frown returned. "There's nothing to say. He's just someone I saw in the community room a few nights ago."

"Someone you thought was hot." The teasing smile returned, Axel seemingly secure enough with his position as long-term steady boyfriend not to find the idea troubling.

"Not …exactly." Molars clamping against the inside skin of his cheek, Roxas tried to compose his thoughts. "There's just something that seems familiar about him."

Clicking the power button on the side of his phone, Roxas watched as the screen darkened, eyed its trajectory as Axel tossed it into the pile of clothes he'd abandoned earlier on the dorm room floor.

"Not that surprising. There are lots of people from Twilight Town who go here."

Yeah, except Roxas was almost positive he'd never seen him back home before, not around town or in high school, no matter how deeply he searched his long-term memory for a trace of those distinctive features.

The thought sounded stupid even before he considered uttering it, and Roxas opted to respond with nothing more than an evasive shrug of his shoulders. There was something private, almost personal, induced by thoughts of this student, so much so that he found himself somewhat surprised he'd willingly admitted his existence to Axel in the first place.

"You're doing that thing again."

Roxas looked up, still distracted. "That thing?" he echoed, final syllable rising as though in inquiry.

With a grin, Axel hopped off the bed and started to get dressed. "You know, that thing where you get all quiet and start sexily brooding. What did you think I meant?"

Mouth forming the first silent syllable of Larxene's name, Roxas ultimately decided not to go there, to interpret Axel's last question as rhetorically as possible. Instead he watched in silence as Axel pulled up his pants. Shirt in hand, his boyfriend glanced back over at him.

"What _I_ think is that you should go talk to him."

That got his attention. Blinking, running the words Axel had just spoken back through his mind, Roxas looked up at him. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

Slipping both arms into the sleeves of his shirt, Axel paused just long enough to finish his thought. "Next time you see him, walk your cute little ass over, sit it on down, and introduce yourself. It's called being social." The final words were muffled as Axel stuck his head into his shirt, emerging on the other end a moment later, hair sticking out in every conceivable direction.

Still skeptical, Roxas slowly stood. He reached out and helped smooth Axel's shirt down where it'd caught mid-back, not letting go until it settled itself at the lip of his stonewashed pants.

"You're sure about this? You're not mad that I want to meet him?"

Axel glanced over at him. "I don't see why I'd have a reason to be. I trust you, and there's _nada_ wrong with making new friends, despite what your antisocial tendencies seem to keep telling you." He reached for one of his elective class textbooks.

"Go forth, be merry. Bonus points if you come back with a hot guy the rest of us can corrupt in the process."

While Roxas shot off a look that clearly implied 'bite me', Axel was busy packing what was left of his belongings, shoveling a textbook and an old change of clothes into his oversized messenger bag.

"Besides," he said, swinging the bag up and over his head, letting it rest comfortably against one shoulder blade behind his back, "if he decides to make a move on you, I can always warn him about how perfectly your snoring apes a fog horn amplified by an exponential of ten, bare minimum."

As Roxas stepped forward, intent on aiming a smack directly upside his boyfriend's head — or whatever the hell body part he could get at without the extra few inches wearing tennis shoes usually afforded him — Axel ducked, skirted out of reach and over to the door, hand lingering on the knob just long enough to turn and shoot Roxas a self-satisfied look.

"Just don't go changing your online relationship status anytime soon, how about? Pretty sure that'd be the death of me, my pride especially if this guy happens to be another freshman baby."

o - o

The next time Roxas saw silver framing aquamarine, he'd arrived in the community room on his own, no friends in tow. It was a tactic simultaneously purposeful and inadvertent. Roxas still came with friends when they had an interest, as was customary; what was new involved showing up now on his own when Demyx, Larxene, Axel, and new addition Zexion were otherwise preoccupied.

The boy had earbuds in again, head inclined, this time actually reading a textbook rather than holding it in a pale-knuckled death grip. Seated in a corner of the room on a small L-shaped cushion, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the world as other students laughed, chattered, and walked past him, Roxas tried to identify the source of his own rising inclination to sprint over to him.

He resisted the urge, entering the room and settling into a chair next to a study table that gave him a good angle to survey the boy without being in his direct line of sight, should his concentration break and end up with him ultimately taking more careful note of his surroundings.

There wasn't anything particularly remarkable about the guy, from Roxas' vantage point; he looked like a typical college student, expending the standard effort at doing his assigned readings on an ordinary fall semester weeknight. His hair was subtly wavy, just long enough to brush against his shoulders with even the slightest of movements, eyes downcast, their color still imprinted in Roxas' memory from the last time they'd fixed themselves on him. Wearing a sleeveless zip-up vest, Roxas noted tanned skin and a well-defined tricep.

He tried to decide if what he was feeling was attraction as Axel had suggested or if it was something else entirely.

The guy was good-looking, no question, Roxas decided, albeit maybe not in the traditional, male model sense of the word. Traditional wasn't all it was cracked up to be anyway though, as far as he was concerned. Traditional meant sticking with childhood friends even if he was growing apart from them; it meant dating girls despite never having had any inclination to do so. It meant keeping secrets and pretending to be someone he wasn't for every moment of his childhood and a baseline two-thirds of his continuing adolescence.

Rising out of his seat, Roxas sucked in a breath, steeled himself, then decided traditional could go fuck itself.

He approached from an angle rather than head-on or in the boy's blind spot. If the guy looked up at any point from the time Roxas abandoned his study table chair to the time he found himself directly in front of him, he'd be in plain view, given plenty of visual notice of Roxas' incoming trajectory.

The boy's head remained down, eyes traveling back and forth over the page of his textbook. Roxas supposed he'd have to initiate contact wholly on his end.

He pulled to a halting stop a few feet away from the boy, eyes darting around the room to make sure no one he knew was around to witness his upcoming attempts at initiating conversation with a veritable stranger.

"Hey, is this seat taken?" he asked.

Jesus Metric Christ, could you have chosen a lamer opening line, was his silent thought follow-up.

The boy didn't so much as lift eyes an inch in his direction.

For a moment, Roxas mentally floundered, heat rising to his face as he tried to figure out why he was being so steadfastly ignored.

The boy reached forward, thumbing to the next page in his textbook. The movement was subtle, controlled. It was just enough for Roxas' eyes to catch a swaying pair of earbud cords in their direct line of sight.

Oh, right. Duh.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, a sure sign of nerves, Roxas cognitively prepped himself to try again.

He didn't have to. Apparently sensing the movement out of the corner of his vision, the boy paused in his reading and looked up toward him.

This time, there was no widening of eyes, just a flicker of recognition that was quickly stifled behind a carefully guarded expression. Balancing the textbook on his knee, still eyeing Roxas with a hint of uncertainty, the boy reached up, wrapping his fingers around one earbud cord. Roxas followed the electronic's subsequent free-fall from the boy's ear on down to the seat cushion by his thigh and was treated to the sound of light acoustics.

"Do you need something?"

A smoky brow rose, giving Roxas a fuller view of the eyes beneath them, their coloring reminiscent of crystalline ocean shallows. They were fixed on him, pinning him in place with some sort of invisible force. The too-full feeling materialized again within the cage of his ribs, and Roxas felt an anxious tension at the base of his throat as he tried to locate the right words to respond with.

The smile returned of its own accord a beat later, foreign in its intensity. The words that followed flowed without effort, as though he'd been meaning to say them from the moment he'd first decided to approach.

"You remind me of someone." Bald in its forthright honesty, the admission came on the heels of a self-conscious smile. "I just can't figure out who."

For his part, the boy simply stared back, remained silent.

Roxas glanced down at the open space on the seat cushion, the corners of his mouth still subtly upturned. "Okay if I sit?"

With a curt nod and a slight shift over closer to the seat's edge, the boy made room for him and Roxas sat, one leg bent and folded under him, the other off to one side, foot flat on the floor.

Roxas quirked his chin, still feeling a heady sensation of exuberance in the boy's presence. "It's weird, because I don't think we're in any of the same classes."

"We aren't." Shaking his head, the boy looked down at the textbook still resting in his lap. Then, another hesitant glance up, lashes obscuring the unnerving intensity of green-blue eyes, and a quiet, "you remind me of someone, too."

"Definitely weird." Roxas found himself grinning, for some reason delighted by the recent admission. "What's your name?"

"Riku."

Roxas echoed the name, tried it out for the first time. It felt smooth across his lips, sounded right. He followed it up with an introduction of his own. That felt a little less natural, although he couldn't say why. Disinclined to allow the jarring feeling enough time to fully settle, Roxas forged on, a newfound child-like curiosity getting the better of him.

"Are you a freshman?"

"Yeah. Same with you?"

Roxas nodded. "How do you like it here? It's totally different from high school for me, but the people are definitely cooler."

It was odd how the words kept coming, as if they were in a rush to find verbal purchase before Roxas could revert to a default state that was a lot less loquacious.

"It's okay, I guess." With a light shrug, Riku twisted his upper body, reaching for the phone by his side. Once in hand, he pulled up a music app and paused the current song mid-crooning sentence. "I don't really know anyone here yet."

"Oh."

Roxas hadn't thought of that, felt a twinge of disquiet as Riku's words hit home. It originated somewhere deep in his chest, then branched out on a gradual but steady path. It reminded him of the impasse he'd reached with his own friends not so long ago, when Axel was away at college and he'd found himself increasingly alone back home.

With timing bordering on clairvoyant, his phone took that moment to begin vibrating in his pocket. Looking down, Roxas fished it out, saw that the notification was a text from Axel. He sent back a quick response, then pocketed the device again and rose to stand in front of the couch.

Riku followed his movement with both eyes but remained seated himself.

"Well, nice to meet you." Roxas shoved his hands into both pockets, feeling suddenly reluctant to leave. "We should hang out sometime, if you want." The words were as much a comforting consolation to himself as they were a standing invitation to the boy in front of him.

"Okay. Sure."

As he spoke in skeptical tones, Riku reached for his dangling earbud, eyes drifting back down to his textbook, and Roxas noted a cadre of raised white lines against skin a shade darker, like tiny sparks of overlapping claw marks up the inside of one arm. Although he felt boyish dismay swell from the depths of his chest, Roxas didn't comment on them.

It could have ended there, the encounter a little awkward but something from which Roxas could have easily backpedaled and left to return to his own life. Instead, he remained in place, felt a tickle at the back of his throat as though compelled to say something else.

"How about tomorrow night?"

Riku looked up, brows furrowing, clearly surprised that Roxas was still standing in front of him.

"What?"

Rocking onto his heels, Roxas grinned in response to the first unguarded expression he'd yet seen cross Riku's face.

"Tomorrow night. Dinner in the cafeteria? My friends and I have dibs on a table that's great for people watching. We usually get there around six. Look for a blond guy with a mullet or his emo-haired boyfriend if you don't see me. There's also a girl who constantly looks like she's just done something that'll send her straight to hell but doesn't regret it at all."

Riku blinked, looked like he was trying to take mental notes as quickly as Roxas was rapid-fire offering up the info.

"And a guy with facial tattoos that make him look way more badass than he actually is." Remembering his most recent conversation with Axel, Roxas finished off with his kicker, even if Axel wasn't around to hear it and get him back for it later.

"I'll try to make sure I'm a little early so I can introduce you to everyone upfront. Sound good?"

"Um." Riku's eyes skittered to either side of him, then returned to the chatty boy in front of him, making Roxas wonder if he might be trying to formulate a way to politely back out.

"Okay," was what he said instead.

Unconsciously, Roxas' expression brightened again. "Yeah?"

Riku nodded. "Dinner. Tomorrow. Yeah."

Again with the cheek widening grin that didn't feel even remotely his own, again with the feeling of effervescent giddiness like he'd just won a long-coveted prize. It was latently embarrassing, but a lot more uplifting, even if he couldn't identify where it'd originated from one way or the other.

"Great." Roxas offered one parting smile. "I guess we'll be seeing each other again then."

 _I watch you fast asleep  
_ _All I fear means nothing._

They were at a party on a Saturday night.

Amendment: they were watching a movie on a Saturday night, not even in a theater but all crammed into the claustrophobic space of Axel's studio apartment.

Whatever. It was cheaper than the movie theater.

At least they could drink together here without him being the underage odd one out who had to order soda and pretend he was fine with it.

Thank god for Riku being a freshman too.

Nestled in Axel's lap on a secondhand love-seat, the threat that he'd vacate the moment — the _exact moment_ — Axel decided to do anything more than kiss him once in awhile still fresh and lingering in the air between the two of them, Roxas watched the movie with glassy-eyed inattention. The plastic cup of his second vodka fruit-juice-something half-finished on a nearby side table, Roxas felt like he was floating, head buzzing a little, chest fluttering and warm.

At least Demyx's dorky jokes were funnier after two strong drinks and half a bowl of popcorn.

They paused the movie at the mid-point for a bathroom break and general smalltalk. At least, Demyx and Zexion and Larxene were chatting about something. Quiet as ever, Riku seemed content to listen from his seat on Axel's oversized beanbag chair, speaking only when someone turned to him for input.

Under different circumstances, Roxas might have joined in or encouraged Riku to participate more. Over the past few months as their freshman year wound to a meandering end, Roxas had learned that Riku was quiet by nature but acutely observant and very good at on-the-fly replies when he did end up engaging with others.

Roxas liked that about Riku. He enjoyed the times they hung out together, even if it just involved complaining about pop quizzes on the campus green in between classes, offering critiques on Demyx's latest song composition, or listening to Larxene bitch at two in the morning on the car ride back from a bar after an unequivocal fail of a blind date.

He liked that being with Riku was comfortable on an intimate but wholly platonic level.

Roxas very well might have coaxed Riku to be more social tonight as well. Circumstances being mixed drink intoxicated circumstances, he found himself fixated on the ambling path Axel's hand was taking instead, rising from his waist where one stick-thin arm had been wrapped, on up his side, to his throat and tickling behind one ear, lightly teasing, encouraging Roxas to turn around toward his waiting mouth.

Not usually the type for romantic gestures, the drinks spun his general aversion on its face, made the world tilt down, then up again as Axel pressed lips against his.

"Get a fucking _room_ , you two."

The jab filtered in as though from a distance, Demyx tittering, Axel pausing, quietly protesting as Roxas broke away from him, then fixing Larxene with a mock-furious look.

"Buy a clue, we're already in one. And, look at that, it's mine, so quit complaining."

As Zexion rose to reach for the remote and resume the movie where they'd left off, Roxas noted that even ever-stoic Riku had cracked a small smile at Axel and Larxene's back-and-forth repartee.

Without a word, Roxas lifted himself up and slid off Axel's lap onto the cushion next to him.

"Hey, now look what you did." Axel shot an anguished look in Larxene's direction. "He's leaving me and it's all your fault."

Nudging him lightly with an elbow, Roxas leaned into Axel's closest arm. "Quit being such a drama queen. I'm not going anywhere."

With a wide grin made wider by gin and whatever else he'd been sipping all evening, Axel lifted his arm, letting it come to a rest across the back of Roxas' shoulders, eyes traveling to the television to focus on the movie again.

The comfortable position Roxas was curled up in, coupled with Axel's natural body heat and the heady dissociation care of two mixed drinks, worked in effective collaboration against his attempt to remain full awake. Before he knew it, Roxas was drifting off to the sound of cheesy B-movie dialogue and the rhythmic breathing movements of Axel's chest beneath him.

 _What's left of me…_

When he next opened his eyes, it was to near blinding sunlight, its warm, yellow-white rays reflecting off bleached beach sand spread out all around him. He heard seagulls first, listened to their cawing conversation amidst the rustling of feathers extended and hovering above him, all over ocean water boasting a clear crystalline sheen.

He saw the boy second, only after his eyes began to adjust. Seated and cross-legged, his mussed brown hair fluttered in a soft shoreline breeze.

As if compelled by a mental effort much more forceful than his own, Roxas approached him.

His back to Roxas, the boy was surrounded by all manner of seashells. As Roxas got closer, a mound of sand became visible over one tiny shoulder.

Stopping beside him, Roxas crouched down, balancing forearms on his knees, waiting for the boy to look over at him.

He didn't.

For some time, Roxas watched, taking in the boy's sand-caked shorts, noting the look of intense concentration across his features as he sculpted the mound into something resembling a lopsided tower.

"Pass me a seashell?"

Without a word, Roxas complied, scanning the sand around them both, then choosing a large one that was more or less symmetrical. It was long and narrow in comparison to the others, scallop shaped, the majority of its shell a lilac shade, its anterior wings offering a hint of soft yellow. He passed it over and deposited it into the boy's outstretched hand.

"Thanks."

Still not looking at the teen next to him, the boy returned to his work, using the seashell as a sculpting tool, Roxas content merely to watch for the time being, and to wonder why he felt such a kinship to someone he was sure he'd never met.

Eventually, the boy reached forward, placing the seashell at the topmost spire of his sandcastle masterpiece. Sitting back, his hands stilled, and he quirked his head, scrutinizing the finished product.

Without warning, he turned and fixed eyes on Roxas that matched his own so closely he thought he might be looking at a younger, darker haired version of himself.

"Did Riku and Kairi come too?"

Roxas blinked at the dichotomy of a recognizable name and its corresponding unknown.

"I …don't think so."

The boy's face fell just a little, and Roxas felt his commensurate dismay in uncomfortable waves. He shifted to seated, mimicking the boy's cross-legged position, then glanced back over at the child beside him.

"Were they supposed to?"

Sucking in one side of his bottom lip, the boy considered the question. "I'm not sure if they can." His voice was solemn, expression reflecting the seriousness of a child who was about to impart sage particulars. "They're adults and busy with grown up stuff now."

"But, still…" His gaze drifted back to the sandcastle. "I worry about them."

For a moment, Roxas remained quiet, simply listening to the measured sounds of lapping waves nearby. Growing up an only child, he wasn't sure he knew how to talk to someone so young.

The setting warped before him, the boy fading in and out of focus, then hopping locations and positions from seated to standing, as ocean water gradually swelled, flowing ever closer. Roxas rose and took a few steps back to avoid the rising tide. He watched as it made quick work of the scattered shells around them, then directed its focus on the sand tower.

Side-by-side, he and the boy watched as the castle began to wilt, leveling out under the persistent undulations of seawater, until all that remained was the scalloped seashell, and a bed of smooth sand beneath it.

One more wave, gentle, caressing, and the shell too was engulfed. As the tide drew away one last time, Roxas looked at the spot where the shell had come to a rest. It'd been swept away, no doubt riding infinitesimal grains of liquid sand. He imagined each as a scattered dream, carrying individual memories of what was once something full and whole further away by the second.

Something felt incomplete; a feeling of deficiency lingered, and Roxas found himself turning back to the boy next to him.

"Is there any way I can help?"

The boy looked back over at him, as though assessing his inherent worthiness.

"Kairi will be okay, I think."

Good, Roxas supposed, because he didn't have the faintest clue who she was.

"It's Riku who needs someone."

The way he phrased it, words heartfelt and expression so earnestly yearning, prickled at Roxas' skin, induced a light flush into both sides of his face.

"Are you …asking me to date him or something?"

The boy scrunched up his nose. "No. Kissing is gross."

"Oh." In an attempt to make up for his apparent ignorance, Roxas nodded in agreement. "Right."

The boy turned suddenly, sprinted a few paces away, then came to a stop. Craning his neck over one shoulder, he shot Roxas a pointed look. "Try and catch me. Hurry up."

He was off again, oversized yellow shoes leaving distinctive, treaded impressions in the sand in his wake.

With a final glance at where the lopsided sandcastle had once risen tall and proud up from the ground, Roxas turned and began to sprint after a boy who he abruptly, inherently, knew had been named in honor of the clear island sky above them.

He couldn't say how far they ran, Sora setting the pace and Roxas endeavoring to keep up with him. Eventually, a dock came into view and Sora slowed to a brisk walk. Reaching his ultimate destination, he turned back to Roxas with a happy expression.

"Cool, huh? I think it'll work for you."

Chest heaving, breaths still in the process of steadying, Roxas followed Sora's line of sight until his eyes fell on a small raft, large enough for no more than one person. On a second glance, he noted an additional piece of wood lain atop and separate from it, realized a moment later that it was a child-sized sword, worn smooth at the handle from frequent use.

He looked back at Sora whose expression turned expectant, as though he was waiting on Roxas to say something.

Brows furrowing as he tried to make sense of the scene before him, Roxas glanced between Sora and the raft.

"Sorry …what are you asking me to do?"

As though it were obvious, Sora rolled his eyes, the expression exaggerated on the diminutive features of a cherubic face.

"You have to leave, because I can't." He spoke slowly, enunciating each syllable, clearly trying to be patient with Roxas. The look on his face turned solemn again, hinted at sadness. "You have to leave and tell him it's going to be okay, because he doesn't believe it yet."

The world shimmered, sun-kissed bright and blinding white. It twisted and spun, until Roxas felt like the ground was a few moments away from crumbling beneath him. He looked down, convinced he was sinking into sand up to his shins already.

He saw the makeshift raft beneath black and red shoes instead, water rippling on all sides of him, Sora nearby and watching his departure from the exact shoreline spot where water met sand.

"Why does it have to be me?" Roxas called.

Although the question was simple, nebulous, Sora offered a bright smile as though he'd been expecting it.

"Because," he said, as if it were obvious. "You're my other, and you can remember. You can say things I never got the chance to."

Roxas wanted to speak again, to ask more questions. But the world was fading before him, dissolving particle by particle, first Sora, then the beach and its single, off-kilter familiar sloped-trunk paopu tree. Like grains of salt-white sand carrying away individual memories of a life that hadn't quite managed to reach double-digit adolescence, it all left him, even the ocean, even the raft, until drowning felt like falling, then falling felt like flying, and flying meant waking up and getting a second chance at life again.

 _What's left of me now?_

He opened his eyes to the dim glow of Axel's side table lamp, apparently left on when Demyx, Larxene, and Zexion had departed. He blinked a few times in rapid succession, trying to retain a marginal grasp on a dream that'd felt a little too scattered, a bit too far-off to properly recall in acute detail.

The rise and fall of Axel's measured breathing greeted him, the realization that a slender arm remained wrapped beneath his own, hand coming to rest at the dip of his stomach as his boyfriend slept half underneath him filtering in next.

Inexplicably grateful for Axel's presence, however unconscious, Roxas shifted, pressed himself nearer, tucking his head below an angular chin, underneath closed green eyes and teardrop-inked skin. Axel murmured something unintelligible, followed up by his boyfriend's name, a semi-conscious inquiry as long arms pulled him closer. Roxas took a moment to savor it.

"Shh."

His voice was low and soothing, a monosyllabic exhale of air. With no reason to wake up from this particular nap, it was an offering of encouragement to keep sleeping. Tonight, dinner was already over, and the prospect of a community room game night hadn't even been part of the equation.

One final murmur and Axel's breathing deepened, leaving Roxas alone with his enduring consciousness. Still in a mild fog himself, Roxas watched the text of a name appear, sparkling at his peripherals, hovering with palpable eagerness. They were beseeching again, each letter imploring to be arranged in its proper order, prostrating themselves in front of him, offering a selection of what he now knew happened to be one letter too many.

Dismissing the superfluous criss-crossed character through a mental effort more than sufficiently forceful this time on his part, Roxas silently organized the text that remained into their rightful places to form a four letter name.

They lingered a moment as though beholden to him, then dissolved, floating slowly downward like feather-light grains of sand. Roxas followed their descent with his eyes alone, watching as they landed on the boy asleep a few inches away from him, curled up sideways on Axel's oversized beanbag. There they settled like a crown of ashy opal, remaining a beat longer before disappearing in perpetuity.

A deep breath in, followed by a sighing exhale, and Riku's shoulders tandem rose and fell, legs straightening beneath him, eyelids fluttering half-open, then closing again.

Holding his own breath, Roxas watched to see if, like Axel, Riku would change positions and then fall back to sleep. This time, he said nothing to encourage the boy in front of him toward either side of wakefulness.

Blue-green eyes opened again, this time blinking a little as they scanned the small space of the living room, taking in the the TV and coffee table in front of him with an expression of mild disorientation.

He could have closed his eyes, slowed his breathing, pretended to be sleeping, but Roxas found himself transfixed, looking at Riku as Riku looked out in front of them both, as he slowly arrived at the realization that someone was watching him.

Eyes wide and holding his breath, Roxas surveyed each progressive sign that Riku was gradually waking rather than settling back into sleep, from the flexing of his fingers to the tilted head-stretch of his neck, and the lingering tension in his lower jaw as he stifled a rising yawn.

He hadn't expected the subsequent tilt of a chin, didn't think to anticipate the gaze of bleary blue-green eyes fixing themselves on him without a modicum of notice preceding them.

Their eyes met and they shared a moment of silence, both boys remaining in their respective places, continuing to stare, to search for something that one had to offer knowing now full well what the other had lost long ago. Roxas felt a surge, the rising swell of a youthful presence in this optical interim between mutual sleep and speech. It was persistent, ever present, silently coaxing him to smile.

He ignored it, to an extent even fought against it. This was his body, his mind, and he was tired — so very tired — of feeling like he was at the emotional whims of an intangible other.

Instead, he continued to look at Riku, allowed his gaze to lose focus, until aquamarine intensity began to outdistance him, and eyes transformed themselves into two bodies of crystalline seawater. Spurred by those inadvertent oceanic depths and a memory that wasn't his, Roxas saw two boys, running on the edge of a shoreline. He heard laughing, the padding of bare feet, saw the dual set of footprints left behind in their wake.

One boy slowed, whirled toward the other and offered up a too-wide smile before his expression set in determination, wild hair fluttering, whipping, in a light island breeze above blue eyes and an olive-toned face.

Legs apart, bare feet bracing, toes curling downward and furrowing themselves into grains of a white sand shoreline, his arms rose, elbows bending toward his chest, reminiscent of the pose taken at the beginning of a Struggle match. Roxas followed the movement from shoulder to forearm, gaze slowing as he noticed the object both boys were holding out in front of one another in tiny, tightly clasped hands.

"Swords," he said, voice hushed, eyes refocusing in the dim light of Axel's living room as Riku blinked in front of him.

"I remember now. It's impossible to play without a partner."

This time, Roxas spoke the words verbatim as he heard them echoing from within, giving voice to a child's marveling revelation — in essence, just giving in.

Mirthful sensation possessed him. It rose like a wave until Roxas no longer felt like himself, until he was grappling, one-on-one mentally sparring with the other presence, and they were both falling and flying through infinite nothing without moving a muscle. Cresting a moment later, it released him, began to dissolve from his very core on out.

This time, the retreat felt different, like something vastly more perennial. Permanent.

Without another word, Roxas extended his hand toward Riku, silently beseeching the presence to remain just a little longer, internally imploring Riku to understand, to reach out and touch his friend again.

A pause, one shuddered intake of breath, then he did, reaching up and twining his fingers through those that Roxas had offered, from an arm attached to a boy who had never known a childhood of sun-kissed island radiance.

Hand-in-hand they remained together, simply watching each other, Riku no longer wondering, just remembering, Roxas reeling from the last attenuated vestiges of a soul that wasn't his — and through it all, finally allowing himself one single revelation of his own, that maybe, just possibly, Sora had made a good other after all.

 _Melt away._

* * *

 **A/N** : I had the shittest of shit handful span of days last week for a number of reasons, not the least of which involved it being the two year date of my best friend's passing. In an attempt to mentally grapple with this emotional overwhelm, I decided to pour as much of myself as possible into a story involving the grieving process. I'd been given prompts for AkuRokuRiSo Month that seemed to fit with something I'd already written (chapter 1 of this story). I spent some time revising that story, cleaning up some of the clunkier wording, and then decided to continue with it, not necessarily to provide a definite resolution to the last scene already written, but to offer an alternate perspective of the same events, plus supplement those only referenced in succinct passing during the first part.

I miss my friend every day. Losing her was like severing a very tangible part of my soul. And grief has this odd trajectory of ebbs and flows, where one moment you're fine and the next you're encountering something that reminds you so starkly of how your life will never be the same. In the active throes of loss, you start seeing things, begin discovering aspects of your loved one in the otherwise mundane. There's a word that reminds you of them, a song on the radio, the way a new friend looks at you with the same, achingly reminiscent tilt of their chin. You start seeing such innocent, infinitesimal things, and it's agony all over again.

As time passes, I've learned to cherish these little miseries, to collect them as coveted offerings. Because, as time persists in the inevitable way it does, and as I find myself moving further away from the initial pangs of associated grieving, I remain ever grateful to have the reminder that my friend, such a wonderful and loving person, chose to reach out and touch my life in such a meaningful way in the first place. I hope this story conveyed that aspect of the grieving process, and that, as angsty as it may have been to read, it also offered even just the tiniest hint that one of the best things someone can do when they lose a loved one is to remember them fondly, and to keep on living life themselves.

RIP Be: 2/1983 - 9/2013


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